


Focus

by TeelLilies



Series: Break [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A graphic scene of Hanzo killing a dude, Bad coping mechanisms, Blood, Blood and Injury, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hanzo Shimada Needs a Hug, Hanzo Shimada is a human disaster, He's a disaster, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self-Hatred, hangovers, improper use of a bow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 04:24:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14866553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeelLilies/pseuds/TeelLilies
Summary: In the wake of killing his brother and retracting from the Shimada clan, Hanzo sets himself to tearing down his family's empire. And in the process struggles to cope with his brother's death.





	Focus

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so this is for an artist friend of mine I worked on the Reapzo zine with! They're wonderful and I wrote this for them because they drew me an amazing thing based on Cold as the Moon! Please go check them out on Tumblr @collophora, their art is wonderful and I'm so honored that they drew me a thing!
> 
> Either way this may become an entire series but this is kind of a successor to Break, my thing based on Scion Hanzo/a comic. I may continue this but who knows, and if I do, updates probably won't be regular because it's a bit of a side project. If you want more angsty Hanzo though, feel free to check out Cold as the Moon because that's got plenty of Hanzo angst!

The motel room was dark, lit only by partially burnt-out street lights streaming through the blinds. It was no more than a sickly orange glow, made brighter when the door was pushed open. It cut an orange slab into a faded red carpet, broken by a figure in the doorway. 

There was a bow hanging from one hand, barely held by tired fingers as the door was kicked shut behind the figure, painting the room in suffocating darkness once more. The motel was nowhere near silent, somewhere down the length of the building, springs creaked, a few rooms over a couple shouted at each other, heard through the walls. But the man’s footsteps were silent as he crossed the room. The only sign that he had moved was the lamp beside the bed flicking on. 

It wasn’t much better than the lights coming in from the parking lot, but it’s weak yellow bulb cast more light than the putrid orange streaks across the unmade bed. 

The rest of the motel room was the same, unkempt, lived in, a half empty bottle of liquor tossed carelessly onto the table. Along with a scattered pile of photos, papers, transcripts, a battered notebook, and a knife that the man often had strapped to his thigh.

Onto the table a bow was tossed as well, the heavy weapon giving a dull thud as it sent the bottle over onto its side. The bow was smeared with blood as much as its owner was. The red pigment splattered up one side, painting an artfully carved dragon with the vibrant pigment. 

Hanzo had been taking down his family’s allies for what felt like years. And that night was no different. 

Except maybe for the fact that the man he’d killed had gotten close enough to catch him with a knife twice. 

That was what made his movement sluggish, the archer wasn’t sure how much blood he’d lost, but part of his side was soaked with it, black tank top clinging to his skin. It was sticky, running down his left arm from where the man had gotten him in the bicep. It was his blood staining the bow, as it’d dripped down his arm and stained his hand, but he would take care of the bloodied weapon once he was no longer bleeding. 

A torn black tank top was stripped off, Hanzo giving a faint hiss of pain as he was forced to lift his arm, wounds tugging painfully in the process. He discarded the shirt to the floor without thought, it would be thrown away later. 

The pressure of the tank top had smeared the blood across his side, painting scarred skin pink and red, like a huge sore. But there wasn’t as much blood as he’d thought, it had just spread easily through fabric and over skin. 

He made quick work of it, ducking into the bathroom to wet a washcloth and clean the blood from the comparatively small wound. The same went for his arm. He rinsed his hand and arm under the faucet in the sink, before taking the cloth up the rest of his arm. 

Once he’d taken care of the bleeding, Hanzo returned to where the rest of his things were. He kept a first aid kit with him at all times, tucked into his bag. It was that he fished out before he kicked the chair out from the table to sink into it and turn his attention properly to his wounds. 

Neither of them were terribly deep, though the one on his side would need to be stitched as it was still bleeding heavily. The thought had Hanzo grimacing as he pulled a roll of gauze from the kit to wrap his upper arm. The stab wound there was no more than a graze. He was sure it would still scar, but he didn’t care enough to stitch it. It didn’t mar his tattoo enough for him to care. Not that he cared much for the tattoo anyways any more. 

He’d left his family, what right did he have to bear their crest, let alone wield the spirits? None. Surely they’d left him after such a disgrace to the family. He wouldn’t know, he hadn’t tried to use the dragons since he’d left his family. Though maybe he didn’t feel their presence because he didn’t want to. Hanzo wanted nothing to do with his family, with the people that had forced him to kill his own brother. 

Or perhaps the dragons had abandoned him because he was a goddamn monster. 

That much Hanzo would believe. They were supposed to follow honorable members of the Shimada family. And what honor was there in killing one’s brother and then fleeing shortly after? Hanzo saw none. He was sure the dragons wouldn’t either. No noble spirit would serve someone slinking off like a wounded animal, a coward. 

Hanzo forced himself to drag his thoughts away from what bridges he’d burned as he focused on threading a curved needle. He’d stitched himself up before, bullet wounds mostly. Because they left huge tears that otherwise wouldn’t heal properly. And even after stitching they left starbursts bright against pale skin. Knife wounds were cleaner, easier to repair. Though it was still painful to force a needle through his own skin. 

And that was what had Hanzo leaning forward to grab the bottle on the table by the neck. Perhaps he was still drinking more than he should have. But after Genji’s death it was the only thing that eased his mind enough that he wasn’t tearing himself up about it every second of every day. Even if it dragged him down deeper at least it didn’t sting so much. 

But for the moment, he needed to ease a physical pain. That much had him unscrewing the top of the bottle and taking a long swig of it with a grimace. 

The cheap liquor burned all the way down. It was awful but it wasn’t too big of an expense, even if it cleared out Hanzo’s sinuses like nothing else and nearly made his eyes water. 

After another off of the alcohol, he set it aside, shaking himself slightly to try and dismiss the acrid taste and what nearly smelled like fucking gasoline. 

With that, he set himself to stitching up his side, gritting his teeth and turning the needle and thread on himself. Even with steady hands it took a moment. He didn’t want to fuck it up and have to re-stitch his own side, once was enough. Even if he would have to remove the thread later, he would rather not have to do it twice. 

He was brisk about it though, pulling the wound closed before he grabbed the knife off the table to cut the end of the string. And after sticking a patch of bandage over his side, Hanzo sat back in his seat with a groan, good enough. 

He was exhausted, endlessly tired from the lack of sleep he’d been getting. Whether it was long stakeouts robbing him of much-needed rest, or simply nightmares that shook him awake at the most ungodly hours, the night was not kind to him. It had never been, but with all of the thoughts haunting him, Hanzo’s mind was never at peace, and he suffered for it. 

Perhaps it was punishment, for who he was, for the death he’d caused over his lifetime. The universe reminding him of what suffering he had surely been responsible for by inflicting such inconveniences on him, by causing him pain for the damage he had done. 

And damn if there wasn’t a lot of damage. 

The thought bounced around in Hanzo’s mind as he ran his hands over his face, catching strands of his hair between his fingers. Not only had he killed his own brother, but he’d taken the lives of many. Every kind of person from low-influence gang leaders to innocents that had crossed the clan. Those were the worst in his memory. 

Not only did he have his brother’s blood on his hands, but he had the blood of countless others, innocent people who didn’t even know what they had done wrong. What kind of murderer did that make him? What kind of person inflicted that kind of damage on people that didn’t deserve it? Perhaps some that he was responsible for killing had earned their early deaths. But many of them surely hadn’t. Not those that had looked upon him with pleading eyes, the innocent lives searching a cold face for any shred of mercy, desperate. 

He did know, however, that anyone associating with the Shimada clan, to assist them in any way… Well they sure as hell deserved it. 

Which was why he’d taken to picking off his father’s allies. Hanzo hated the clan, he wanted them to endure the same kind of pain they had put him through. He wanted them to feel alone and hopeless like he did. He wanted to tear their empire down with his own two hands. 

That was what had brought him to America for a few months. His family had a surprising amount of allies in the west. And they all needed to be taken down a peg, in his opinion. He was simply doing what came naturally to him. In a wayward attempt to tear down some of his family’s power in the process. 

Hanzo made an attempt at dragging himself out of his thoughts as the roll of tape was dropped onto the table, along with the knife he’d been holding. 

The motel had fallen quiet, it was late enough that Hanzo was sure the couple arguing had made up and gone to bed, or one of them had stormed out and the other was keeping their crying to themselves. Whoever was the cause of loudly creaking bed springs had gone silent as well, leaving only the muffled sound of cars hissing by on wet streets. 

It left Hanzo with nothing else to focus on but his own thoughts and his own motel room. No matter how much he tried to keep his mind clear. So late at night his thoughts were drawn to the past, to months ago when his nights had been spent grieving for his brother and his father reprimanding him for doing such a thing. 

After so long though, he was just numb. He’d stopped caring. Stopped caring if he was killed during an assassination, stopped caring about his appearance or how he conducted himself around others. The cold politeness trained into him by the clan had evaporated. Instead replaced by a gruff, hostile attitude whenever Hanzo was forced to deal with other people. It was easier to keep people off his trail that way, easier to keep people from talking to him. 

He didn’t need anyone. He was on his own for the first time, yes. But Hanzo was doing ok. He’d brought money, even if it was slowly running out. He’d see if he could talk to the right people and start getting paid for the people he had his sights on killing. He knew that many of the people he wanted dead had enemies that would pay through the nose to have their competition killed. 

The silence that’d settled over the motel was broken by the grumble of an engine and tires crunching over a gravel parking lot. Two doors opened, followed by a woman laughing and the low sound of a muffled conversation through thin outer walls. 

Probably a one night stand of some variety. Hanzo grimaced at the thought. He’d never been one for that sort of thing, but his brother had been. Sure Genji had never brought anyone back to the castle as that would mean death for whoever he brought back. But Hanzo had heard, more than once, about Genji’s escapades. 

For the moment Hanzo did his best to shake off thoughts of his brother with a half growl. He didn’t need to think about Genji. That would only drag him down for the night, or even longer. And that wasn’t what Hanzo needed, what he did need though, was sleep. He needed to recharge before setting his sights on his next target. 

But if there was anything Hanzo knew from experience, it was that sleep did not come easy to him under any circumstance. Especially on nights when he was busy thinking about how his life had crumbled down around him in a matter of months. 

Only a year ago he’d been lined up to take over a thriving empire, he had his brother by his side to lean on when he needed Genji. Even if his little brother was a bit of a disaster. At least, he had always been just a little different from how their family wanted him, a loose cannon. And that had included times that Genji had tried to help his brother. Whether it was offering Hanzo a shoulder in times when his brother was stressed or any other number of things. The Shimada clan considered that weakness. 

And after he’d killed Genji, everything had spiraled out of control. Hanzo knew damn well he was broken, edging on insanity even. But at least he was doing something with himself, making use of what time he had so he wasn’t just worthless. Though he was still a monster no matter what good he did to tear his family down. 

Either way, Hanzo didn’t let himself linger on what he’d lost. He shoved thoughts of Genji down before he pushed himself to his feet. It made his side pull, uncomfortable as stitches tugged against his skin, unyielding. But he stood anyways, considering before he snagged the bottle off the table, taking it back across the room with him. 

If he intended to sleep he would need much more alcoholic aid. 

And eventually he did sleep, hours later, just after the sun started to rise. Stretched out across his bed, good arm tucked up behind his head and the mostly empty bottle of alcohol tossed half-across the mattress where he’d left it. He didn’t even bother dragging the covers over himself, just sleeping where he was, even if the room was a bit on the cold side. 

When his body allowed him sleep though, Hanzo slept hard. He was out for the count, likely for a good twelve or more hours if nothing woke him. That was always how it happened, he ran for days on nothing, and then when he did sleep it claimed him for almost a full day. 

However, he wasn’t going to be allowed the peace of sleep for longer than the day. As even in such a deep sleep, the slightest sounds woke him, and he was roused by the quiet scratch of… Something. It was enough to have him stirring, stifling an uncomfortable groan as the orange light streaming through the blinds burned at his eyes. 

A hangover practically smothered him, had his head pounding as he struggled to find enough coherence to pull himself up onto his feet. He had to swallow down bile upon doing so as it made his stomach revolt against him, sending it rolling as he staggered slightly.  
His body wasn’t on his side for once, and Hanzo found himself regretting drinking the night previous as he moved across the room to arm himself. If he was woken by anything, it likely meant danger. 

And sure enough, the scratching he’d heard was someone picking the lock of his door. That much became obvious as he leaned his hip against the table to steady himself, and the door to his room swung open. His hand landed on his bow first instead of the wicked looking knife that caught the light of streetlights as the door eased open. 

Instead of fumbling for the knife, Hanzo’s fingers curled around the body of the bow. 

Though upon seeing the shock on the face of the man in the doorway proved easily that he wasn’t expecting the ex-Shimada to be awake. 

And even despite a hangover, Hanzo could still act on instinct, and experience. That meant that he moved to take his chance before the unwanted guest could recover from the surprise of seeing a half-awake Hanzo waiting for him, Hanzo moved as quickly as his hangover would allow. 

Even then he was quick, heavy wooden weapon pulled back in two hands before the bow caught the other man across the face, sending him to the ground.

Though as the end of the bow clipped the doorframe with the full force of Hanzo’s swing, it jarred the end of the weapon, giving a low crunch as wood cracked. It jarred Hanzo’s arm, but he didn’t have much time to recover before the assassin was lashing out, taking his feet out from under him. Hitting the ground made his head spin. He still felt awful, still sick from his hangover and fighting nausea as he kicked the other man off of himself, struggling to get his eyes to cooperate and focus properly. 

He was quick to push himself up though, swaying slightly as the room spun but turning his gaze on the man still recovering from the blow across the face. 

Hanzo went for his bow again though, while the knife would be more efficient, the bow was closer by a long shot, and he could pick it up in a breath as his attacker pushed himself up to his knees. 

There was another loud crunch as the other man was caught across the face again with another heavy blow. Both from the bow, now weak in one place, and from what was probably teeth knocked out of place by the sheer force the Shimada struck with. 

Hanzo had never had issues with strength, even with an injured arm he could swing like nothing else. And even if killing someone by blunt force was one hell of a way to kill someone, he wasn’t interested in bothering with a knife, as he was struggling not to be sick already and wanted things to be over with. 

His next blow landed atop the man’s head, and it sent the end of the bow snapping off. Wood splintered around a metal support and a string went slack as the end of the bow came free and dropped to the ground, decapitating the beautifully carved dragon that graced the weapon. 

Hanzo paid it no mind for the moment, the bow meant nothing to him, it was simply a weapon. And the long piece of exposed metal that had once served to reinforce the weapon was close enough to a blade for Hanzo’s liking. 

Before his assailant could recover from the blows that had surely caused a wild concussion, Hanzo reached forward to crab the man by the shirt, yanking him forward and right into his next movement. 

He jammed the broken end of the bow up under the man’s chin, the blunt strip of metal bearing up through flesh and scratching past the hard part of the man’s palate before the jagged end of the broken wood shoved into the man’s flesh, stopping Hanzo’s movement short as the splinters of wood dug into pliable skin. 

The man dropped from Hanzo’s grip, scrabbling at the weapon sticking out of his jaw and choking around the piece of metal that had been thrust through his windpipe. Hanzo grimaced as he watched blood boil up around the man’s nails as he desperately tried to claw the weapon from his body. Though as he watched he realized that the door was still open and the man was about to start bleeding onto the carpet. Both things that he didn’t want. So with a huff, Hanzo forced himself to his feet, steadying himself on the table when his stomach lurched again. 

It was quick work to close the door with a quiet slam, before he fished into his bag for an already bloodstained towel. The blood was mostly his, and had never properly washed off, but it was still good to put under the man while he bled out. 

Businesslike, Hanzo stooped to grab the man by the hair, hauling him up enough that he could toss the towel under the man’s shoulders and head, keeping blood off the carpet and dropping the man once more. 

The sounds of choking faded slowly until the room was cast into silence once more. 

Hanzo slumped back onto bed with a huff, trying to steady his breathing enough that he wouldn’t be ill. The sight of blood didn’t usually bother him but the sight of the corpse with the broken end of his bow sticking out of his throat was a bit much. 

It was only then that the fact he’d broken his bow sunk in properly. The realization had Hanzo cursing as he dropped his head to his hands. He hadn’t had an emotional attachment to the bow, it had been a gift when he’d ‘come of age’ from his family. It was handcrafted, probably worth more than Hanzo even knew, perfectly balanced and shot with incredible precision. 

And it was broken. 

Hanzo knew bows weren’t supposed to be used as blunt weapons, but in close combat he couldn’t care less. Hell the only thing that was eating at him about the loss of the weapon was that he’d somehow have to find a new one with enough strength to actually kill. Without drawing attention to himself. 

And after he’d cleaned up the scene and disposed of the body, that was what he turned himself to. Seeing as the rest of his damn life was on hold until he found another bow. 

Which was what he reluctantly turned his attentions to as soon as he’d disposed of the body and cleaned up his motel room. He didn’t have time for truly taking care of his tracks. But he did well enough that he’d have enough time to get well away from any cops before he could be caught. It wasn’t like one more murder would do much to soil his already destroyed reputation. Or lack thereof in the states. 

He still couldn’t stay where he was though, someone had surely heard the fight, so once he’d gotten all of his things together, he was gone. Though without the bow disassembled in his pack, his things felt oddly light. 

Not for long though, as before anything else Hanzo sought a hunting store. Thankfully for him, Americans still hunted like no other culture he’d ever seen. Except for perhaps Russia, but he had only ever been there a handful of times, and didn’t plan on going back if he didn’t have to. 

Either way, the love for weapons that Americans had happened to be good for him, as it wasn’t harder than a quick online search for him to find a place that sold every manner of weapon for hunting.

Obviously they meant animals, but if it could kill a deer Hanzo was sure he could kill a human with it. 

The store was bigger than he thought though, as when he arrived he realized it was closer to the size of a supermarket than anything, annoying to say the least. He hadn’t planned on lingering long, but Hanzo took long enough to even find a section stocked with a surprising amount of bows. It was there that he was a bit lost. He had never seen the likes of half of them. 

Most were compound, heavy metal things with unyielding strings, others were graceful recurves that were only meant for sport, as the draw felt like nothing and Hanzo was sure it would barely stick an arrow in a foam target. 

He was running his hand over the string of what seemed like the tenth compound bow he’d picked up that a voice startled him. He nearly dropped the weapon in favor of pulling a concealed knife.

“Anything I can help you with sir?” A store attendant offered him a warm customer-service smile. He was a larger man, with a short grey beard, and a receding hairline. Overall nonthreatening. Enough that Hanzo forced himself to relax slightly, returning the bow he was holding to where he’d picked it up from. 

“I am looking for a bow like this-” He pointed to one of the recurves that hung in a pristine line, most were made of heavy plastics that didn’t feel right in his hands. Or low-quality woods, a handful were metal but he didn’t like them much. 

“But I prefer the weight of these.” He pointed to the rack of compounds before looking back to the attendant. The man gave a faint whistle as he walked over to stand beside Hanzo and look over the bows. 

“Well, I dunno if I can get you the kind bells and whistles these bad boys have with a recurve. ‘Cause y’see the way these work-” Hanzo cut the man off, raising a hand and biting back a sigh of frustration, he didn’t want to deal with people. Let alone overly helpful store attendants. 

“I know how compound bows work.” He muttered, brisk in his barely-restrained annoyance. The man was just trying to be helpful, that much he knew. But with harsh lights burning into hungover eyes, Hanzo was in no mood to actually interact with anyone or listen to some long-winded explanation of how a bow worked. That much he knew inside out. 

“Alrighty then, you know your stuff, so you know if you’re looking for a recurve it’ll be a lot more on you. What’re you hunting?” The man asked, unperturbed by Hanzo’s harsh comments. Hanzo was sure it was years of dealing with shitty customers, but couldn’t bring himself to care enough to change his attitude. 

“Deer.” It was close enough, and if he said he was hunting humans, that would get him arrested in moments. Obviously. And he was sure that would do him well enough. The man offered a faint nod, considering as he linked his hands behind his back. 

“Not too bad then, you’re gonna want at least forty for draw weight. But that’s easy, you said you prefer recurves?” The man asked, Hanzo just gave a nod of agreement, lifting a hand to rub at his eyes. He wanted to be done sooner rather than later. 

“Y’know if you don’t mind the extra draw weight I think we’ve got a couple recurves in the back that’re meant for bigger game. They’re heavier if that’s what you’re lookin’ for, they’re just a lot harder to draw.” The offer had Hanzo pausing a moment, did he really want to wait that long? Well, if it meant actually getting a bow he could work with then yes. So he gave another mute nod, he was sure the man didn’t want to go rummaging around in the back for another kind of bow but he figured he wouldn’t have even offered if he was to opposed to it. So he followed the attendant when the man motioned for him to. He figured that if he couldn’t find something perfect he would at least find something good enough to get by with. Even if it took him some getting used to.

He was asked to wait by a counter near the back of the store, customer service or something. Hanzo didn’t care enough to actually bother reading any signs, instead he was focusing on not being ill or trying to ignore the pounding in his head. 

The sound of footsteps and the attendant returning with a stack of three different boxes had Hanzo looking up again. He was treated to the man laying the three bows out in front of him and explaining each one in detail, along with its attachments or lack of them. As he talked though, Hanzo’s sights settled on a bright blue one that appeared to have a sight and a few other things. 

After a brief talk with the attendant about the bow, and getting a case for it as well, Hanzo took a closer look at it and decided it was the closest he was going to get to perfect from some department store. So he decided to take it. 

It set him back a startling amount, but it was better than having now bow at all. So after Hanzo had paid for the weapon and transferred it to the case he’d purchased instead of its packaging, he headed off to find a bus elsewhere. 

The world outside was still damp from the previous day’s rain, the air cool against overly warm skin. It was soothing, offering Hanzo a shred of peace as the sounds of the rest of the population going about their lives eased into white noise in the back of his mind. Had his anxiety been running higher, the quiet conversations he passed on the sidewalk and the bustle of human life would have sent him into a near panic attack. But in the wake of the night before, Hanzo was just tired, drained, ready to move on before someone caught the trail of the two bodies he’d left in his wake within that area. 

He just needed to leave, by any means. 

The itch to go drove him to a local bus station. It was easy enough to get on a bus and leave. He’d done such things before when escaping bad situations, busses trains, all manner of transportation. 

He was used to the bustle, the crush of other people packed into a tight space. He’d trained himself to cope, to keep himself moving despite the discomforts brought by close vicinity to other people. 

So instead of listening to hushed conversations, or the drone of a bus engine as he settled into a somewhat uncomfortable bus seat, Hanzo fished in the pocket of his jacket for a pair of headphones he’d picked up.

In the wake of leaving his family, he’d started listening to music more than ever. It was a good way to drown out the rest of the world, to block out sound that gave him anxiety. Because even if the sounds of other people around him didn’t bother Hanzo right in the moment, he knew that eventually they would start to bother him more and more. So he settled for eliminating the risk of that by settling and putting his headphones in. 

Even with the quiet drone of music to drown out the sounds of others as the bus rattled along its route, Hanzo didn’t relax much. He could never relax around others. Not even when he’d still trusted his family. So despite the long bus ride, even if others fell quiet and fell asleep from lack of anything else to do, Hanzo just watched the world pass by out the bus windows. Even if he spent half of his time trying to avoid being sick from the nausea that had a nasty habit of resurging the moment he wasn’t focusing on keeping his breathing even. 

Day leaked into evening which slipped into night. On the way the bus made several stops, the crowd thinning and returning around the archer. Thankfully nobody attempted to make conversation with him. He knew he didn’t exactly give off a friendly atmosphere. Which was good considering he fucking hated interacting with other people anyways. 

It even went as far as him barely offering a half-nod at the bus driver when he did actually get off of the bus. The man had wished Hanzo well as the archer got off the bus, but Hanzo was just focused on leaving and figuring out what he was doing next. 

The bus rumbled off into the night, leaving Hanzo where he was at a significantly shady looking bus stop. 

He’d gotten far out of the city, instead in some fringe town he would likely never be able to place on a map. Lights winked at him from the dark, declaring an all night diner and a few other places on the main drag of an otherwise tiny town. Neon and LED signs blinking into an endlessly dark night as the buzz of unkempt lights nagged above Hanzo. The night air had turned cold, breeze washing out of the trees that seemed to threaten to swallow the town, edging in to tear roots through the asphalt of the bus station’s parking lot. 

It seemed a good enough place to lay low until everything blew over. So after drawing a long, steadying breath, letting the frigid air wash into his lungs, clear his head, Hanzo turned himself to a half burnt-out sign for a hotel, and started walking.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, please feel free to tell me what you think in the comments! I love hearing from people!


End file.
